


Always

by PansexualAlienMothership



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Songfic, dorian pavus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansexualAlienMothership/pseuds/PansexualAlienMothership
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A songfic of Always by Panic! at the Disco.</p><p>Dorian Pavus and Nínimion Lavellan are together, even when things get rocky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

_“When the world gets to heavy,  
_ _Put it on my back,  
_ _I’ll be your levy,”_

“Dorian, are you sure you don’t need any help with these letters?” the redheaded Nínimion Lavellan asked, his head tilted slightly. His eyebrows were raised, as if in concern.  
  
“No, no Amatus… I can handle my own,” the mage sighed as he continued to write, stopping to run an inky hand through his hair of the same color.  
  
Piles of papers lied on the cherry wood desk. Nínimion had to wonder who sent his love these letters, keeping him busy with writing. Perhaps people wanting information or answers to questions that Dorian didn’t want to answer. It had been this way for many months. Messages for Dorian, that kept him too busy to do much with the Inquisitor in their so-called free time.  
  
“I’d be happy to help though!” the redhead said, standing from his usual spot on the floor and leaning against the desk.  
  
Dorian let out a laugh. “Help me by not putting your hands in the fresh ink, Amatus. I don’t want your pretty fingers stained by it.”  
  
Nínimion stuck his tongue out playfully, crossing his muscled arms. He was pretty, and he knew it, Dorian thought to himself. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as the elf broke his petty teasing and grinned.  
  
“You want to help? Seal the letters. Be careful though, don’t burn yourself with the wax.”  
  
The Inquisitor scoffed incredulously. “I am _not_ a child, Dorian,” he mumbled as he began sealing the letters. He’d sealed only four when he was grabbed by the waist and pulled into the mage’s lap.  
  
He let out a ringing laugh, then, playfully punched Dorian’s shoulder.  
“ _Ma vhenan,_ do you want your letters done or not?” he smirked, face centimeters away from Dorian’s.  
  
Dorian brushed the other male’s red hair out of his face.  
  
“Damn the letters. Damn those who sent them. They can wait one more day…”  
  
  
 _“You are taking me apart,_  
 _Like that glue on a get well card,”_  
  
Dorian sighed slightly. He felt like Nínimion studied him sometimes. Not that he minded. It was the good type of studying. He would sit in the windowsill of the library room, watching Dorian silently, his green eyes glittering with wonder at his lover. Dorian wanted to tell the elf that he held the same wonder. He also wanted to know everything about him. Every curve, every scar, every callous, every line of his tattoos would be all Dorian’s.

“Do you think about us often Dorian? As in… This relationship, I mean,” Nínimion finally spoke.  
  
How was the mage supposed to answer this? Of course he thought about them! How could he not…? It ate him up, not knowing some things. When Nínimion left and didn’t take him, was he okay? Was he bleeding to death in some field, thinking of being in a warm bed next to the very mage who’d read endlessly to kill the time between the Inquisitor’s leaving and returning?  
  
“Yes, Amatus, I think of it constantly.  They’re good thoughts though, don’t worry yourself,” Dorian reassured. Were they good thoughts always? No. That was an out and out lie. He worried constantly.  
  
What if Nínimion left? Should he leave first? Losing Nínimion by choice would be far better than losing him to death. It was tearing him apart, like Nínimion tore apart his logical thinking on occasion.  
 _  
  
“It was always you,  
Falling for me,  
Now there’s always time,  
Calling for me,”  
  
_ Flashing back to just after the two became closer than friends, Dorian had been searching for the Lavellan for nearly an hour. A massive rainstorm had hit, but that didn’t stop him from checking the courtyard.  
  
“Should’ve checked here first,” he thought aloud.  
  
Nínimion turned from watching the rain on a bench. He patted the seat beside him with that charming smile that made Dorian melt like wet clay in an artisan’s hands. It was a sweet, innocent smile. He sat. How could he deny the redhead what he wanted?  
  
“I love the rain, Dorian,” he whispered, closing his emerald eyes. “The smell, the feel… It’s like it cleans the whole earth.”  
  
Dorian snorted. “It makes mud. Mud makes a mess.”  
  
This comment brought a laugh from deep in Nínimion’s throat. Dorian laughed too, but not so much at anything funny. He was laughing out of pure surprise and happiness.  
  
His gleeful face soon left. “Amatus, I’ve received another letter from my father…”  
  
Nínimion opened one eye, then the other. “Yes? And? Why do I care? He’s nothing to me anymore… Unless you want to try to repair this relationship between the three of us.”  
  
“He’s advising that something be done about us. You specifically. He says that you aren’t a good representation of the Inquisiton. He… Also says that he’ll advise many against helping the Inquisition until you choose to cleanse yourself,” he sighed, holding out the letter.  
  
Nínimion snatched it, rushing out into the icy rain without a second thought. “Well, here I am! Clean!” he shouted, spinning once in the torrential rain. His red hair was soaked, his clothes were drenched, and he thought the rain hid his tears.  
  
Dorian’s crystal blue eyes were wide. “You’ll catch your death, you stupid…” he gasped, unable to even finish his sentence. He stormed out from underneath the safety of the roofed part of the courtyard, taking Nínimion by the waist and pressing their lips together.  
  
The elf dropped the upsetting letter, focusing solely on the kiss. After what seemed like an hour, both pulled back at the same time. “There… Now we’re both clean…” Dorian whispered, kissing his love’s temple.  
  
The redhead smiled brightly, dragging the waterlogged mage back into the building. The letter lied in the courtyard, turning to no more than a mush of paper pulp. _  
  
“I’m the light,  
Blinking at the end of the road,  
Blink back to let me know,”  
  
_ “Dorian! Look, look what I got for us!” the Inquisitor’s voice rang through the library, disturbing a few of Leliana’s crows with the volume. Such childlike behavior, Dorian thought, was a sight to see from his normally straight-faced lover. He must truly have been excited. Breathless, he stumbled up the stairs, smiling. Dorian sat back in his chair, his own slight twitch of his lips meaning, “Show me.”  
  
The Lavellan proudly held out a crystal on a cord. A necklace. “Erm... It’s lovely, Amatus… It... Matches my eyes…?” he tried to compliment the crystal. It did match his eyes. Still, he had so many more pieces of jewelry. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but they were far nicer than his love’s gift as well…  
  
“Silly, yes! Put it on, then hold it and think of me!”  
Dorian was no fool, but he sighed and indulged his love. He watched the elf pull a green crystal out of his own armor and hold it. Dorian watched with a slight smile. Such childlike wonder was rare and precious. He jolted a bit as both crystals pulsed with bright lights of their designated colors.  
  
“Nínimion…” he whispered, his eyes wide.  
  
“Love stones, for when you worry about me. If you worry, grab it and simply think of me. Mine will light up. I’ll respond to you by grabbing mine and thinking of you. Then you’ll always know that I’m alright,” he explained.  
  
He noticed it… Dorian didn’t call him “Amatus” or “Love.” He called him Nínimion. Dorian stood slowly, on the verge of tears that he refused to let his lover see. He threw his arms around the elf in a tight embrace, which was returned.  
  
“I love you, Dorian…”  
  
“I… Love you as well, Nínimion…” _  
  
“I’m a fly that’s trapped in a web,  
But I’m thinking that my spider’s dead,”  
  
_ It had been four months since Nínimion had heard the word he so dreaded.  
  
“I’m going back to Tevinter,” Dorian had said, first thing in the morning.  
  
“Going back? Then I’ll begin packing, at once! Let Cassandra and Josephine take this job for a few days, because I’m going to Tevinter!” he laughed, getting up and sipping at his tea.  
  
“Nínimion, I’m going alone,” Dorian said firmly, suddenly. The teacup shattered against the rug seconds later. “Look… Look, you’ve ruined your Orlesian rug…” Dorian diverted.  
  
“Oh, fuck! Not the precious rug! What will it do, now that I’ve spilled tea on it?! Perhaps go back to Tevinter?!” he yelled, his lips pulled into a sneer.  
  
“Nínimion… Please, don’t do this. I’ll be back. I promise. There’s just things I have to take care of…” the dark-haired mage sighed, rubbing his temples.  
  
“If you say you’ll return… I trust you…” Nínimion sighed and nodded, not wanting to act like such a petty child. It was bad enough that he’d just been so rude.  
  
That was four months ago. He’d written endless letters, with not a single one back. He questioned couriers, tracked down delivery caravans, and requested investigations. None of those activities brought the letter he so desired…  
  
 _“Lonely, lonely little life,  
I could kid myself,  
 In thinking that I’m fine,”  
  
_ Nínimion often shut himself away after the Dorian incident. He went out when he had to, feeling more betrayed than ever when he saw mages of any sort. He’d even stopped taking Vivienne or Solas along. He did papers and wrote letters as often as he could.  
  
He stared constantly at the portrait. He’d commissioned it when he and Dorian knew they were to be serious. It was the two, of course, Dorian dressed in rich blue robes and bejeweled with sparkling sapphires. He’d insisted on Nínimion being dressed like a fool. Nínimion’s robes had been an extravagant violet and fennec fur ensemble, with amethysts strung in his red locks and hanging from his pointed ears like purple teardrops.  
  
He cried often when he looked at it. Both were smiling, and it hadn’t been an act either. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. No speaking was involved, just feeling.  
  
Later that evening there was a knock at Nínimion’s door. He opened it to reveal Cassandra. “And what do I owe this visit too, Cassandra?” he asked, managing a grin. “I’m worried for you, Inquisitor. I told you, that Dorian was trouble! I should’ve kicked him out, gone against your orders, or—“  
  
“Now, Cassandra…” He scolded. “I’m fine. Dorian will be back… He will. I know he will. He wouldn’t lie to me. He’s many things, but no liar. He only wanted the best for Tevinter and for me.”  
  
Cassandra sighed. “If you’re so sure that you’re fine,” she sighed.  
  
“Oh, I am. Get to bed. I should do the same,” he laughed, the false smile fading after she left. He had told himself that he was fine so much that he was starting to believe it.     
  
  
 _“It was always you,_  
 _Falling for me,_  
 _Now there’s always time,_  
 _Calling for me,”_

 _  
_Nínimion recalled how the garden had become full of the gorgeous crystal grace flowers. It was six months into his and Dorian’s relationship.  
  
“Dorian, do you know my favorite flower?” Nínimion sighed wistfully as buried the seeds of elfroot in the herb garden.  
  
“Roses?” Dorian suggested with a proud grin.  
  
“Er… No, I love crystal grace! They’re so lovely, y’know?” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I wish I had a garden of them.”  
  
“You only think you want a garden of them. They overwhelm with their perfume. Besides, you are a much prettier and rarer flower…” Dorian whispered, kissing the elf’s hand.  
  
Nínimion only snorted. “That doesn’t change the fact that they’re still my favorite flower,” he scoffed. Dorian scowled a bit. He thought his compliments would deter Nínimion from desiring dreaded crystal grace in the garden. A few seconds later, the last of the seeds were planted, and the Inquisitor stood.  
  
“Ah well. Wishful thinking, that’s all it is,” he sighed, earning a nod from Dorian. Still, this didn’t leave the mage’s thoughts. He knew what was to be done, no matter the cost.  
______  
  
“My Lord Inquisitor? There’s something that requires your attention in the courtyard,” Josephine told Nínimion from the door of his room. The elf raised a brow.  
  
“I’ll be right on it then,” he said, nodding and putting the quill down. He hadn’t been in the courtyard in nearly two weeks.  
  
He pulled on his boots and started out, rubbing his temples in preparation for whatever was happening. He walked out, smelling the air instantly. It was sweetly perfumed with… Crystal grace?  
  
He stepped out from underneath the wooden awning and his eyes widened. Crystal grace grew over the trellises, up the gazebo, and all over the walls. In the middle of the courtyard stood Dorian, sniffling and rubbing his eyes.  
  
The Lavellan walked over, shaking his head and smiling. “ _Ma vhenan_ , you silly boy…” he whispered, hugging him tightly.  
  
“If crystal grace makes you ill, why would you do this? Why would you—“  
  
“Because you love them. And I love you,” Dorian interrupted, laying his head against the other’s shoulder.  
  
They remained in their embrace, surrounded by nothing and no one but crystal grace, the sweet perfume enveloping the two.   
  
 _“I’m the light,  
Blinking at the end of the road,  
Blink back to let me know,”  
  
_ Five months had passed now, and there was still no word from Dorian. Nínimion had tried to forget or at best, ignore his feelings. He was getting better. It was still hard though. He’d demanded the two’s portrait be taken down and put into storage. It had and was no longer there to taunt him. It couldn’t erase the memories though. It couldn’t erase the lonely, cold nights spent reading stupid romances that were once so clear in his mind.  
  
“I’m sure he thinks about you,” a soft voice came from the balcony, causing the redhead to nearly toss his book out of fright.  
  
“Cole…” he sighed, taking a deep breath and managing a smile. “What do you mean?” he asked. As if he didn’t know.  
  
“You’re a bad liar. I mean Dorian, of course,” Cole said, walking in to the warm room and sitting on the desk, steadying shaking hands against the edge. He shook constantly, Nínimion had noticed.  
  
“Dorian has forgotten about me, about you, and about the Inquisition,” the elf sighed, shrugging and playing with the crystal amulet he still wore constantly in blind hope.  
  
“But you haven’t forgotten him! If you don’t forget someone, they can’t forget you either, I think,” the pale-skinned spirit said, shaking his head. He moved, sitting on the bed. “You miss him, and he misses you!”  
  
“Cole, when someone doesn’t respond to your letters, they—“  
“They miss you, but they’re scared,” Cole inserted.  
  
Nínimion sighed and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right, Cole. You should rest, though. It’s late.”  
  
“Only if you sleep as well,” Cole responded, nodding slowly. The elf reassured the young spirit that he would, which inspired him to leave. Not long after, the Lavellan kept his word and curled up in bed after putting out the candles.  
  
He clutched the crystal close, eyes closed. “ _Ma vhenan…_ ” he whispered, before falling into a deep sleep. He wasn’t awake to see his crystal flicker twice, like a heartbeat.  
  
“ _That I’m skin and bone,_  
 _Just a king and a rusty throne,_  
 _Oh, the castle’s under siege,_  
 _But the sign outside says “Leave me alone,”_  
  
Nínimion sat in his quarters, eyes tired and fingers overworked. He stretched and sighed. There was always so much to do, which he was fine with. It kept him busy. It kept him from thinking too much. In his free time, he was back to being sociable. He drank with the Iron Bull and his chargers, he read books to Cole, he drank too-sweet tea with Sera, he took up carving with Blackwall, he helped Solas gather new information, he planted herbs for Vivienne, he read over drafts for Varric, and he trained with Cassandra.  
  
Still, those who loved him knew that when he asked to be left alone, those words were to be heeded. Sometimes, alone was a long chess game with Cullen or a drunken conversation with Cole, where Cole wasn’t even drunk. Other times, alone was solitary confinement. It was a way of punishing himself for being too happy without Dorian.  
  
Still, he was doing his jobs now. He was proud of himself, in fact. He’d overcome sadness. He was his own person, though it wouldn’t be bad to have someone around still. Perhaps he’d have to ask Cullen if there was any chance at all.  
  
It had been a long day, and he turned to the balcony. Someone came in, probably with the tea he’d asked for nearly an hour ago. “Thank you. Leave it on the desk,” he said monotonously.  
  
“What a way to be greeted by the love of your life,” a familiar voice snorted.  
  
“It was always you,

 _Falling for me,  
Now there’s always time,  
Calling for me,  
I’m the light,  
Blinking at the end of the road,”  
  
_ Nínimion turned and rose from the chair. “ _Ma vhenan_...? Are you really here?” he whimpered, staring at Dorian. The mage dropped his bags, quickly embracing the other. “Yes, Amatus. I’m here. For good,” he whispered.  
  
Tears streaked Nínimion’s face, and seconds later, Dorian’s as well. “I hate you… I hate you…” the elf sobbed into his chest. “I take that as “Welcome home, I missed you too,” then?” he laughed, stroking his hair. Nínimion nodded between his choked sobs that formed into laughs.  
  
“I can’t believe you came back to me,” he whispered, shaking his head.  
“I was lost without you… I found myself again, but I was lost for awhile there,” he sighed softly, rubbing his green eyes. “And you never responded to any of my letters!”  
  
“Letters? I never got any letters,” Dorian said, his brow furrowing. Both looked slightly confused and slightly shocked.  
  
“Listen, it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re with me. You’re here. You’re—“  
“I’m home,” the mage said, kissing his head.  
“Yes… You’re home…”  
 _  
“Blink back to let me know,  
(It was always you,)  
Blink back to let me know,  
(It was always you.)”  
  
_ A week later, Nínimion hadn’t come home from going out to investigate something. It was late, and Dorian was worried. He looked down at his crystal, holding it and closing his eyes.  
  
He sighed, reaching up to place a book back on the shelf, and his crystal returned two pulses, which caused relief. A moment later, he was pounced on. He was happy that he had impeccable posture and balance, or he would’ve toppled. Nínimion was on his back, legs wrapped around his waist, laughing hysterically. He leaned around, and Dorian pecked him on the lips.  
  
“Amatus,” the elf murmured.  
  
“ _Ma vhenan_ ,” the mage replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in quite awhile, so I hope you all enjoyed my songfic of my Dragon Age duo. ( ˘ ³˘)♥


End file.
